The chamber Roland chose for his audience was nothing like the stone halls of Moonshadow. It was alive.

Roots wound through the walls like veins. The air smelled of damp earth and burning cedar. Torches flickered against ancient runes carved into the floor — words older than any pack, pulsing faintly with power.

Bella stood in the center, her wrists free but her breath tight. The silence pressed against her like invisible chains.

Roland didn’t speak immediately. He simply circled her, his ...